


a warm glow

by steeringwheeleater



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Double Penetration, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeringwheeleater/pseuds/steeringwheeleater
Summary: hi, so , i started writing this like 2 years ago? and it's been in my drafts ever since, and im likely Never going to finish it at this point, so i figured i'd post the Only complete chapter (the second of three, lmao)things that you need to know happened that are not in the second chapter because they were supposed to be in the first: whirl goes in2 heat! cyclonus finds whirl! cyclonus grabs his smaller boyfriend! consent and relationship discussion! going wild and having a blast!chapter 2: [this!]things that would have happened in chapter 3: in! the! notes!if you can excuse the way im describing this story in my own voice, the actual prose reads like this:"Whirl was given pause, and quietly he turned his one eye up to the recharge-slackened face of the jet. His optics dark and his permanent scowl given no bite, Cyclonus looked as peaceful as Whirl felt. And he was there at all, helping Whirl, of all bots, through a demanding heat cycle. Did it mean what he thought it meant? He would’ve expected this if Tiny were in heat, but him? Whirl? It was too good to be true."
Relationships: Cyclonus/Tailgate/Whirl (Transformers)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	a warm glow

**Author's Note:**

> alright a bit more in-depth on Plot Stuff, because i like heat stuff but only Real Specific heat stuff and i had Plans.  
> also feel free to skip this cause its gonna be long and incoherent because i can Write but i cant Describe.
> 
> character dynamics: cyclonus and tailgate are dating, its awesome, theyre loving it. whirl is cyclonus' bff but in that tense way they had in the comics cause that shit rocked. i also just think they have good chemistry and are also definitely into each-other, but whirl is more obvious about it because he's not really captain of the control your emotions club.
> 
> in chapter one whirl is hiding out in his hab cause, yk, he's horny as shit and doesn't need anyone to know about that. he only talks a big game abt his dick hes not ready to share that yet yk yk yk. anyway, cyclonus stops by to see him cause nobody's seen whirl in A While, Like A Concerning Amount Of Time, He's So Loud And Loves Attention So Much, Where Did He Go? Is He Alive? and whirl opens the door to seem less suspicious but , um. he was kinda in the middle of something? and it's not subtle. whirl seems wicked uncomfortable and cyc is like maayyybe i should just leave? i'll tell the crew youre modifying your weapons or something. n whirl is gonna agree but theyve been dancing around each-other for a While now and cyclonus is kind of a major hotboy and whirl is also Wicked Horny and cant rlly jerk off with claw hands so he asks if cyc maybe... wants... to help? cyclonus is like 0//c//0 i should go talk to tailgate first and whirl is like 'fuck there goes that idea that was embarrassing, but ok go talk to the legs'. they both come back a little while later n are like 'ok so. if youre interested. if youre still interested. we can Both help you out here.' and whirls like 'ummm........ yeah. sure' cause he like, Likes them yk, and he needs to get FUCKED already. yada yada consent discussion, tailgate goes ok ill sit this one out sorry if this is weird, cyclonus fucks whirl so good and so gentle . also tailgate jerks off at the head of the recharge slab. everyone goes to sleep cause that was Effort. 
> 
> this is chapter two
> 
> in chapter three whirl wakes up with his boyyyz post-heat and has a bit of a crushing moment of 'ok, ok, its over now and things are just gonna go back to the way they were cause theyre in love and theyre not in love with me and this was just because im a hot piece of ass' and also he cries, but thats k because the others wake up and comfort him with soft pets and they talk their feelings out, decide they are all Feelings for each other, and then they fuck again because like. why not, this time its Real there's no pretense. its good. they are happy. the end. ive written some of chapter 3 i might just post it unfinished, but i have 2 versions and dont know which i like better so maybe not. it's also revealed in the third chapter that when whirl overloaded and his chamber opened he flat passed out and the other two very nicely did not take advantage of that because, come on, who do you think they are?

Cyclonus had worn himself out, and now lay recharging against Whirl’s heated side. The helicopter reveled in this moment alone with his… well, ‘beloved’ was a bit sappy, ‘crush’ a bit immature. His _it,_ then, lying against him. The soft puffs of Cyclonus’ exvents rolled over his helm and, despite the urge to wake him, Whirl felt some small part of him quiet. The heat poured from his frame and stirred in his valve, but Whirl couldn’t find it in himself to be anything but content— for _once_ in his damned functioning, Whirl felt _alright_. The small aches were nothing compared to the satisfaction of holding, and _fragging,_ what he considered the most important bot in this universe. 

Whirl was given pause, and quietly he turned his one eye up to the recharge-slackened face of the jet. His optics dark and his permanent scowl given no bite, Cyclonus looked as peaceful as Whirl felt. And he was there at all, helping Whirl, of all bots, through a demanding heat cycle. Did it mean what he thought it meant? He would’ve expected this if Tiny were in heat, but him? _Whirl?_ It was too good to be true. 

One clawed hand rose from the slab beside him, mindfully clamped shut while they passed lightly over Cyclonus’ cheekplate. Whirl examined him closely. 

Perma-glower, deep-set optics, and chiseled structure. _Really_ as hot as it got, and underneath was a processor— undamaged, intelligent —with Whirl’s wellbeing in mind. Sure, for a hot second there Whirl had thought Cyclonus only wanted to get with the bot with the bod _begging_ to frag, but honestly: what kind of bod was this? He couldn’t touch _himself,_ let alone a partner. No, Cyclonus was interested in Whirl, himself. 

His _fingers_ and his _tongue,_ and his _voice,_ and his _spike_ , all for Whirl. 

Inside of Whirl. 

Plowing into Whirl like he had nothing else he’d rather be doing. 

But Cyclonus was recharging, and Whirl could feel the lubricants building behind his panels as his heat resurged.

He squirmed, turning and pressing his legs together (or as close as he could manage to ‘together’) for the friction he desperately needed. Cyclonus was fragged out, totally spent, and though Whirl could still see the big guy being up for round seven if Whirl promised to do all of the work himself, Whirl couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t melt the second he felt Cyclonus’ spike against his valve. The sound of metal passing over metal accompanied his leg-rubbing, merely jostling his valve lips against one-another in a way that was obviously _not_ built to satisfy. A curse upon all who had a hand in designing this fragging pointy, wide-jointed body! It was like they _wanted_ him to suffer, or something. 

His vocalizer emitted a high-pitched whine despite himself, and Whirl hissed frustration while he ground his hips against thin air. He needed it, and he wanted it _bad_. And he _refused_ to go back to that pitiful excuse for self-service. 

Cyclonus’ slumber was deep, and he hadn’t noticed Whirl gyrating beside him for all of the noise. The same couldn’t be said for the minibot recharging at the head of the slab. 

Tailgate’s optics onlined dimly, the drowsy little Autobot shifting in a way which, to Whirl, accentuated the curve of his legs very nicely. It seemed to hit him slowly that he wasn’t in his own hab, and when his drowsy visor fell on Whirl’s writhing frame Whirl watched him remember all at once what had happened. The visor that had been soft, even relaxed now burned over-bright at the memory of Cyclonus fragging Whirl into oblivion mere hours before. It was clear in Tailgate’s posture that he was embarrassed, as effected by Whirl’s heat and the spectacle as he’d been. Whirl still remembered the stall of Tailgate’s vocalizer and the spatter of transfluid that landed on the slab beside his head. He remembered thinking that there was somewhere much better it could’ve gone, and his fans ticked up another notch when he thought that he might still get it.

Whirl squirmed under Tailgate’s optics, need and seduction intersecting as he pulled his legs up at the knee and rolled his hips off of the berth. It had the intended effect of holding Tailgate’s wide-optic attention, and Whirl’s own optic narrowed craftily as he ground up on nothing. 

“ _Hey,_ Legs.” Whirl’s vocalizer was still a little raw, and his words were rough coming out. He didn’t have a mind to reset it, finding it difficult to think of anything but that transfluid. 

It was hard for Whirl to imagine Tailgate was looking at anything other than his hips when the minibot spoke himself, “ _Hey,_ Whirl… _A_ re you feeling any better..?”

_Oh,_ he was cute. It was no wonder this little marshmallow had managed to slip under Cyclonus’ armor so quickly (and Whirl was getting dangerously close to appreciating him, himself). 

“Oh, you know. As much as I can when my valve is on _fire._ ” Whirl was glad to know that he could still find it in himself to be sarcastic at a time like this, putting it all on display for his coveted lover’s lover. 

“ _O-_ h?” Whirl turned, craning his neck, to ensure the flustered minibot could see the exposed, shimmering lips of his valve. Tailgate appeared to squirm for a moment, and Whirl was entertained to see his hands creep over his thighs. 

Whirl hummed affirmation and rolled his hips again. “Wanna… Wanna help me with that?” He asked. He was being cheeky— staying in character, you know? —but he was starting to feel the strain of his heat again and it was quickly becoming uncomfortable. And since Cyclonus was out of commission, Tailgate had to offer an assist. 

“ _Uh-huh,_ ” Tailgate’s one hand pressed against his closed panels while he started to scoot himself across the slab on his knees. Whirl’s exvented heavily and allowed his hips to sink back onto the slab, and when Tailgate rounded his side Whirl splayed his legs wide to make room. 

Whirl watched Tailgate’s visor brighten as he trained his optics on Whirl’s valve, and to entice the little bot along Whirl clenched the channel, lubricants pouring from his entrance and pooling under his aft. Tailgate’s hips twitched. His little hands rose to Whirl’s sides and stroked the edges of individual plates, delicately, as if he could break them, and he watched the other’s equipment with rapt attention.

“Somebody’s eager.” Whirl snickered, and Tailgate nodded. “Do you know what you’re doing?” 

Heat-addled and wanton Tailgate didn’t make a fuss to defend himself, instead bringing one trembling hand to Whirl’s interface equipment and dragging two fingers through the puffy lips of his valve. Whirl dropped his head to the recharge slab and wriggled needily into Tailgate’s fingers. There was an audible hitch in the minibot’s vents, and they brushed against his lips once more before sinking into the heat of his valve. 

Two fingers became three, became four, became five, became six, and as Tailgate pressed in with seven fingers Whirl really started to feel the pressure. The thickness filled his valve entrance and pressed against his walls, knuckle joints dragging over the mesh and making Whirl squirm. With every press Tailgate’s thumbs rubbed at his node and pleasure built like a cloying warmth in his interior. 

“Tailgate,” Whirl raised his head, optic narrowed, and watched the minibot’s arms pump him full. With an intense quirk to his visor shutters Tailgate was rocking forward, pressing in as deep as he could, fingering Whirl’s node and at the same time keeping his panels decidedly shut. Whirl could see the benefit to popping those bad boys, taking the minibot’s spike in hand to get him ready for the main course, but he couldn’t articulate the idea with his processor spinning in four-billion _desperate_ directions. 

On the next press Whirl’s fans stalled and his back arched off of the recharge slab, transfluid slipping through Tailgate’s fingers and between his knees. Electricity crackled across his frame, firing from his node and scorching his valve. Whirl couldn’t have been sure, but it looked for a moment like Tailgate was near overload, himself. Excess electricity arced over the minibot’s wrists and disappeared between the plates of his arms, and he jolted with a hot little gasp.

Whirl whined when he felt Tailgate’s fingers slip out of his valve, banging one frustrated claw against the berth. No matter how many times _he_ overloaded, the heat couldn’t be satisfied by his _own_ pleasure— unfortunately, he needed Tailgate’s spike in him _right the frag now_. 

“Tailgate,” Whirl’s vocalizer was rebooting, but Tailgate’s hands were on his hips now, compliant. There was a click, a sigh, and Whirl raised his head again to look between them. Tailgate came forward over the slab and raised whirl’s hips until they were in line with his spike, optics just as intent on it as they’d been a moment ago. He brushed one hand down Whirl’s thigh. “Tailgate!” 

Tailgate sunk in quickly and his moan carried loudly in the dark hab. His fingers skittered across Whirl’s side plating, gripping and releasing several times before he’d gotten himself under control again. He couldn’t help the shallow thrusts of his hips, barely enough to get Whirl’s charge up again, but after a long moment they became more confident. Tailgate snapped his hips forward with enough force that the casing of his spike slammed Whirl’s valve lips and the helicopter drooped again back onto the slab. His thrusts were hard and fast, his hands tight at Whirl’s waist until finally— _finally!_ —Whirl felt the electricity crackle through his partner and the unmistakable wetness of transfluid pouring into him.

The heat and the pressure pulled a second, weaker overload from Whirl, but it wasn’t enough to stop Tailgate’s sloppy thrusts.

The minibot’s fans roared over the hot little breaths his vocalizer emitted while he thrust his hips up into Whirl’s valve again and again. “You’re so hot, Whirl,” 

Whirl snorted, “It’s the heat, genius,” 

“ _No,_ no,” Tailgate groaned when he bottomed out to rest, expression strained as he leaned forward over Whirl’s abdomen to trail stiff fingers over his torso. “Like _sexy._ Like— Like beautiful. You’re hot.” His spike ground gently against the mesh of Whirl’s walls, but aside from that restless, charged-up wriggling of his hips Tailgate had stopped fragging him entirely. Whirl, with a groan of frustration, spread his legs that much wider and threw a thin arm over his optic. How embarrassing! He wasn’t _beautiful,_ he was a creature of sin and darkness the likes of which the universe would never know again! Tailgate’s fingers caressed his plating and each of its edges. “I figured you knew that already.”

“What gave you _that_ impression?” Whirl watched Tailgate’s face for any change, any sign that this was a lie, but he didn’t find anything like that. To his frustration Tailgate’s visor burned with adoration, optics seeming to follow his fingertips down and across, tracing Whirl’s frame with reverence. His shallow thrusts continued, pressing in lightly and pulling back _just_ too little to count when he pushed forward again, and Whirl squirmed for want of friction, for want of changing Tailgate’s focus. Last night it’d been Cyclonus, and now Tailgate? He couldn’t take much more of this sappy scrap. 

Tailgate’s head tipped up to look Whirl in the face, his little hands stilling in their path across his middle. “I don’t know. You just seem pretty confident, so I figured— _Oh,_ ” For a second Tailgate lost his composure, his hips grinding deep and pulling a moan from his vocalizer when Whirl’s valve cycled down to keep him there. 

So he was just talking Whirl up, huh? _Figures_. Whirl would never be ‘hot’ again. “Say, Tailgate. As much as I’m enjoying this little chat, I kind of—” Whirl planted his feet on the recharge slab and pushed his hips up around the minibot’s spike, “Need you to move!” 

The hands at his sides pulled back in their surprise, and Whirl was almost struck by the loss of their gentle trailing before they’d returned with a vengeance, gripping his hips sturdily as Tailgate started fragging him again in earnest. The clang of their hips, while still a quiet sound, was music to Whirl’s audials. The helicopter relaxed back against the slab and let the little guy go to town, kicking up speed and reaching an unsteady hand between their bodies to give Whirl’s spike a pull. Even as frustrated as he was, Whirl had trouble _not_ -appreciating the clumsy pawing on top of what could have been a much slimmer spike, and the helicopter sighed beneath the ambient sounds of their interface. His optic started to loll, his clawed hands clenching and unclenching around air while he rode the forward humps and thrust up into Tailgate’s small fist. 

Tailgate’s fragging lost its rhythm, but Whirl couldn’t be assed to care when it still felt so good. His mind was blissfully blank, only his heat dictating his movements, thoughts of _harder, down, Primus, yes_ — and when the burn of another overload rolled in his belly his optic slid lazily open to be met by the intense burn of red optics, casting their glow over Cyclonus’ gaunt, very _awake_ cheekplates. Cyclonus’ jaw worked hungrily and he met Whirl’s gaze without faltering, and it was this that sent Whirl over the edge. He cried out, a quiet, airy thing, and felt the slick stream of transfluid throw off Tailgate’s remaining rhythm and coat his abdominal plates. The minibot moaned over him, but Whirl’s optic was locked on Cyclonus. 

Whirl watched Cyclonus push himself up onto his knees on the slab, heard the scrape of his frame across the surface while Tailgate tried for another overload of his own, oblivious to the jet just behind him. Whirl watched without movement or question. He was starting to _trust_ Cyclonus. 

Tailgate squeaked when he felt two large hands grip his waist and lift him from the slab (and Whirl exvented as his spike dragged through his sensitive valve), and had no time to adjust as he was pulled up onto Cyclonus’ lap, his own valve panel pressed to the upper arch of Cyclonus’ impressive spike. The jet took both spikes in hand and, after cocking Whirl’s hips up towards the ceiling, pressed them through the slick lips into that waiting heat. Whirl’s internals screamed, but outwardly he only smacked one claw down on the berthtop and watched Tailgate’s visor brighten impossibly whiter. The minibot’s fingers seemed to claw at his own facemask, but Cyclonus held him still in his lap. He thrust for the both of them, pushing himself and Tailgate deeper into Whirl very slowly, as if he understood the concept only after the fact. 

The combined thickness of Tailgate’s chubby little spike and the proportionate girth of Cyclonus’ own was enough to make Whirl feel like he was being split in two. 

He found that— when Tailgate’s overload hit him and he keened into his own fists, transfluid piping into Whirl’s valve and reminding him that interface was _incredible,_ actually—he didn’t care. 

Cyclonus held Tailgate’s middle with one hand and clasped the second over Whirl’s hip, giving his all to his own thrusts and milking Tailgate’s overload for all it was worth. Whirl squirmed beneath them and fought to keep his vocalizations to a minimum. His valve was so full, the heat so extreme, the mess of their interface making the rudest of noises with every press into his core— Whirl’s next overload nearly knocked him offline. 

Cyclonus, when he overloaded, spilled material far deeper than Tailgate had been able to manage. Whirl could’ve sworn that he could feel it reach his ceiling node and deeper still, pooling into his gestation chambers with no small amount of force and reigniting the spark of his forge. He twitched and squirmed, and his optic followed Cyclonus as the big bot lowered down over him to press hard kisses to the highest point of his cockpit. _Oh…!_

Cyclonus’ thrusts hadn’t abated, but they’d slowed to a hard brush back and forth over his walls, Tailgate’s spike pressed wholly against his anterior node and rubbing it for its money with every push. 

All of the sensations, even the harshest of them, contrasted with the cool drag of Cyclonus’ lips against the glass. Whirl didn’t have the presence of mind to acknowledge the safety he felt in that moment, but when Tailgate’s hands pressed to his abdomen and Cyclonus’ kiss fell again upon his cockpit there was a loud click, the whirring of mechanisms long underutilized, and Whirl’s chestplate slid aside without resistance.


End file.
